


Bottom of the Bottle

by StrangeInk (punkhale)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Gay Sex, Heartbreak, M/M, Post-War, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkhale/pseuds/StrangeInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He didn't want to remember the soft look in her eyes or the delicate curve of her neck, nor the heady scent of her skin when they made love. They were torturous memories, stabbing at him like a knife and slicing up his heart. "</p><p>Originally posted on ff.net and written in 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottom of the Bottle

Oliver put back the rest of the firewhiskey and dropped the bottle to the floor. He heard it shatter against the tile but it was distant, an echo in the back of his mind. It wasn't important. Nothing was important anymore.

He stumbled awkwardly towards his bedroom. He bumped into the couch and the raw feeling of fabric against his flesh made him realize he wasn't wearing any clothes. He wasn't really sure why this was the case; he didn't remember taking them off. In truth, he didn't really remember much after the door had closed on him and the only person he had ever loved walked out of his life.

The time in between then and now didn't matter. None of it mattered. Everything was a blur as Oliver Wood's intoxicated form tried desperately to pull him along. When he finally made it to the bedroom, he collapsed, not even making it to the bed which was his original goal. Sleep. Sleep and hopefully never wake up.

He didn't need to be in the bed to sleep so he stayed where he was, slouched over and leaning against the wooden chest that contained a set of Quidditch balls. He closed his eyes and felt his head start to spin. He could have sworn his whole body was about to explode. The alcohol was doing a real number on his senses.

Katie had been everything. He'd never been with anyone else; she was all he had. And now she was gone. She was gone and firewhiskey had never tasted so good in his entire life.

The Quidditch captain managed a groan of despair that sounded more like the pathetic whimper of an empty man with no hope for redemption than anything else. What was he supposed to do now?

His eyes dropped closed as he begged for unconsciousness to take him. He didn't want to think or feel, just slip into blackness. The alcohol coursing through him would keep him for dreaming –or so he hoped.

He didn't want to remember the soft look in her eyes or the delicate curve of her neck, nor the heady scent of her skin when they made love. They were torturous memories, stabbing at him like a knife and slicing up his heart. He pushed thoughts of her away, hopelessly attempting to banish the pink tint of her lips from his mind. And the way she laughed…

"Sleep," he murmured incoherently.

Nothingness surrounded him and he wasn't sure how long he'd been out. It felt like weeks, months even although was probably only a few hours. He had dreamed, to his explicit horror. He'd seen Katie, beautiful in white, kissing her way up his body only to turn into something akin to Medusa when she reached his lips. He'd screamed but there was nothing but the claustrophobic silence, pressing against him from every angle. And then there she was again, standing in the doorway of their once shared flat. The words echoed around him as she told him she'd fallen in love with another. He felt the sensation of cold shock sweep over him as the dream fell awake and he awoke, sweating and trembling.

He tried to cry it out, but the tears wouldn't come anymore and he just lay where he had passed out, shaking uncontrollably. Thoughts swam through his mind but they were evanescent, floating away and turning to mist before he could grasp on to any of them.

There was a knock on the door but the sound only vaguely registered to the Keeper's ears. He wasn't connected to reality, his mind too far away as if it were trying to run from the heartbreak, leaving his body behind with the pain.

"Oliver? Oliver! I just came to return the broom you lent me, it was-"

The voice stopped as George Weasley came around the corner to discover the present state of his long-time captain. His eyes widened in surprise as the fact that the older man was naked and seemed to be surrounded by empty firewhiskey bottles.

"Oliver? Are you drunk? Geez mate, you look bloody awful!"

Oliver said nothing, not even aware of the redhead's presence. He was still in a state of shock, his body racked with agony.

George immediately went to his side, deciding to ignore the man's lack of clothing, and placed a concerned hand on his friend's shoulder. Oliver didn't respond to the touch or the worried calls of his best friend. Because they had become best friends over the years, despite their initial annoyance with one and other.

Realizing that his friend's right state of mind was clearly not with him, George pulled the naked man close to him, holding him tightly in an attempt to stop the shaking. He thought for a moment how strange it was to be holding the Keeper so near to him when said Keeper was not wearing any clothes, but he didn't care. He didn't know what had happened or what had done this to him, but it ripped him apart inside to see the brunette like this. So he hugged him tighter, whispering words of assurance in his ear and smoothing back his hair lovingly. He was treating him as he would a girl in the same position, but he decided not to acknowledge the fact. It didn't matter as long as Oliver was okay.

Slowly the trembling subsided, leaving Oliver nothing but a pile of limbs curled up next to the beater, breathing heavy and covered in a layer of sweat. George rested his head in the crook of the other man's shoulder, breathing in his scent. He smelled like liquor, as if he has sweated firewhiskey. "You're okay," he whispered, trying not to let his eyes roam over his friend's nude form. Now that he'd calmed down a bit his nakedness was getting harder and harder to ignore.

"George?" The voice was cracked and desperate as the Quidditch captain opened his eyes, gazing up as his comforter. His vision was blurred and the most he could make out was a shock of red and two concerned eyes.

"It's me," the twin said softly as he saw the older man give a faint smile. Not like his usual smile, this one looks lost and broken.

"She left me," he murmured into the redhead's shirt. "She left."

Now George understood, he was talking about Katie, the old chaser of the Gryffindor team and Wood's longtime girlfriend. Oliver had loved her, everyone knew that, could see it every time he so much as looked at her. George had wondered what it would feel like to have someone look at him that way. He'd been so jealous. And now here he was, picking up the pieces of Oliver's love. It wasn't right; no one deserved this, especially not Oliver. His Oliver…

He supposed he knew that he was in love with the brunette man, perhaps since his first year on the Quidditch team with him. But he hadn't let himself believe that's what it was. He'd been so young and young boys do not lust after their Quidditch captains.

It had been a long time, so many years, of burying those feelings. Feelings that he'd never admitted to himself to having. And now there they were, consuming him from the inside out. This wasn't what he needed right now, and it wasn't what Oliver needed either. He tried to make it go away but his attempts were futile.

"I'm sorry Oliver," he said quietly. "Things shouldn't be this way. It's wrong, all wrong."

The brunette seemed to be coming back to himself a bit more, his senses returning as he processed the situation more clearly. He was lying naked in his best friend's embrace but for some reason this didn't bother him as much as it should have. Perhaps he was still in too much shock, but it felt good to have the beaters strong arms around him.

The Keeper shifted his body, revealing more of him than he had before. George went still at the sight, his body frozen as he tried not to stare at the perfection that was Oliver Wood. The older man noticed the tension that filled his friend and quickly identified what had caused it.

"Sorry," he mumbled, staring to move his leg a bit to cover himself.

"Don't." George's voice was strained and harsh. He didn't want Oliver to move. It was wrong of him and selfish, he knew that, but gods he didn't want him to move.

"It's okay," he said in a gentler voice. Oliver settled back against him, leaving his lower parts open to view. He couldn't bring himself to care or be embarrassed, and the redhead's heat felt so good against him. He couldn't ever remember being so close to the younger man, but he was enjoying it. Which was strange, he shouldn't be enjoying anything. Katie had left him. There was a twinge of pain in his chest just at the thought of her name. He wanted to escape this hurt, it was killing him. He could feel it eating his innards and he feared there would be nothing left of him when it was done.

Maybe the day's events had completely rattled his brain, but the idea that popped into his head just felt so right. He didn't want to stay like this forever, broken and aching all over. He ran his hand up George's leg, gathering the fabric of his jeans in his fist while pressing his body closer to the other mans.

George's breath hitched at Oliver's movements. He couldn't be doing this, could he? Certainly not. He tried not to groan when the Keeper pressed up against him. What was he doing? Didn't he know the effect this was having on him?

"I don't want to hurt," Oliver said softly, snaking his arms around the redheads neck. "Make it go away George."

The twin looked down into those eyes, so big and pleading and he felt himself coming undone. He wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips, to runs his hands up and down the other man's body. To make him moan…

"Oliver don't do this, you're vulnerable, I can't," George begged. He had to stop this now. Oliver would regret it, perhaps even hate him for taking advantage of him. He wanted to soothe the brunette, not break him more.

Oliver moved so that he was straddling the younger man and George could feel the hard length of him press against his stomach. Why'd he have to go and do that? He fought not to look down, but he couldn't help it. The sight of Oliver so ready for him made him whimper as he slowly lost the battle raging within himself. He could already feel himself hardening and his hormones were on a rampage. He was just a man, he could only take so much.

In his defense, Oliver kissed him first, pressing his lips insistently against the younger mans. George felt all logical reasoning leave him as he immediately sunk into the kiss, gripping Wood as close to him as he could get. He ran his tongue over the other man's bottom lip, begging for entrance into the hot cavern of his mouth. Oliver gave into them and their tongues met in a heated frenzy. The redhead took over, pushing the Keeper down onto his back, moving so that he was on top of him. They were still on the floor but neither seemed to care.

George let his mouth roam down over the other mans neck, licking and nipping his way further down his body. Oliver was so hard for him, standing at attention and just begging to be touched. He couldn't help but comply, wrapping his tongue around the silky hardness of his shaft. Oliver let out a small cry of pleasure.

"God I want you Oliver. I never realized how much I want you."

The brunette didn't say anything, just let out a moan as George stroked him lovingly. The redhead couldn't help but give a faint smile at the reactions he was eliciting. He'd never dared imagine being able to make these noises come from him. He kissed his way back up the older man's body, recapturing his lips with a bruising passion.

'I want you," he said again, his voice tinged with the huskiness that came with lust and sex. "You should tell me to stop."

He waited, his breath caught in his throat, anticipating the response he would get. Part of him wanted to be told to stop, to go no further. The greater part of him was hoping to kiss those lips again and to fill him to the hilt.

"Don't stop."

George immediately moved his knees up between his legs, spreading them apart and laying him open. He let his hand wander down to grab his hardness and slowly pumped him. Oliver's back arched into his touches to the redhead complete satisfaction. He was making all sorts of pleasurable moans, the sounds bubbling up in the back of his throat and spilling forward, revealing just how very much he wanted George Weasley. And he did want him.

That didn't keep his eyes from widening in surprise when George's fingers found his way to his entrance, slick with spit. The redhead had never made love to another man before, but he had a basic idea of what he was supposed to do.

He inserted a finger, watching the other man's face while he did so. Oliver wasn't sure at first how he felt about this new development but then the Beater added another finger and crooked them just so, hitting his sweet spot.

"Ahh, oh god that feels good," he gasped, staring up at the redhead in wonder.

George removed his fingers and shed his clothes as quickly as he could, hurriedly coming back to press his naked body against Oliver's. The feel of their skin touching felt glorious as the Beater positioned himself at Oliver's entrance, dropping spit down between them and lubing himself up as best he could. The Keeper tensed and George swooped down to kiss him again.

"Relax, it'll be uncomfortable at first, but it will feel better if you relax."

Oliver let the tension leave his body, looking up at his lover with eyes so full of trust. He'd never done this before, but he had faith that his best friend would take care of him. He was such a good best friend.

The Keeper felt the initial push of George's tip pressing into him and he fought to keep his muscles loose. The twin carefully pushed himself inside, going ever so slowly to allow Oliver to get used to the feeling. Said man squirmed a bit as he felt himself stretch to accommodate George's hard length and the pain was certainly there. But it was nothing compared to the pain he'd been feeling.

The redhead shoved the last inch of himself inside, gasping at the sensation of Oliver's tight walls surrounding him. The Quidditch captain saw stars as George hit that bundle of nerves within him, He was sure he'd never felt anything so amazing in his life.

The Beater started to move, slowly at first, in and out of the other man, reveling in the sheer ecstasy of making love to Oliver Wood. And it was making love, not just a good fuck. It was slow and sweet and when he looked down at the brunette who was now moaning his name, he felt his heart swell.

Oliver started to loosen up, allowing George to pick up the speed of his thrusting. Both could feel their senses start to tense as the pleasure built up, strumming through their veins with hot anticipation. The redhead moved his hand, gripping Oliver's manhood and stroking harshly causing the other man to scream as his release took him. It was too much for George and he soon followed, shouting his lover's name as his body convulsed.

They both panted heavy, gazing at each other, still in the after waves of orgasm.

"I'm so sorry Oliver," George said, slowly pulling out of the other man, hanging his head. He shouldn't have done that. He'd taken advantage of his friend's weakness and he'd never felt so terrible about himself.

A warm hand came up to sup his cheek as Oliver fixed his eyes on him, his face showing so many emotions in just that one look.

"I told you to."

"it was wrong of me."

"George." His voice was a plea that the redhead knew he was powerless to ignore. "Just hold me."

He did as he was told, hoping he wouldn't ever have to let go.


End file.
